


I Know We Both Won't Say a Word

by StoryQueen



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dancing, Drabble, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Romance, One Shot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryQueen/pseuds/StoryQueen
Summary: Bucky tries to make Steve feel better after the events of Civil War.Just some fluffy drabble to accompany a moodboard that someone requested I make over on my MCU Tumblr blog all-hail-thanos. No actual romance, just two friends (who like each other) comforting each other in the confusing and depressing aftermath of recent events.Title from the song 'Billie Holiday - The Man I Love'.





	I Know We Both Won't Say a Word

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking on this mini fic!
> 
>  
> 
> [Originally posted on my Tumblr: all-hail-thanos](https://all-hail-thanos.tumblr.com/post/176022870509/mcu-moodboard-hokkaidomillbread-asked-hello) I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> hokkaidomillbread asked: “hello! love your stuff! would you mind if i requested a moodboard? my very simple and open prompt is “stucky + rain” (post-freeze ver.)
> 
>  

 

It was only the early afternoon, but the clouds had gathered outside to smother the sun, choking the light but trapping the tropical heat below the thick blanket of sky. It hadn’t stopped raining since Bucky woke up early hours this morning. It had been the thunder that had woke him, but he was sure than he would’ve awakened soon enough anyway as his nightmare had started to slip into the realms of unbelievable. He had chuckled, watching as he flexed his hand as he stood up from the crummy, old sofa he and Natasha had shared that night. Dust? There was no way someone could just flake away into nothingness.

The afternoon was humid, but their armour remained tightly strapped to their torsos. It had only been a week since he and Steve had fought against Stark, and the threat of being found and incarcerated still hung heavily over their heads. They were well aware that it would for a long time, years of running, but their plans to get to Wakanda seemed promising.

Steve had been quiet all day. He sat alone on the windowsill of the lighthouse, staring out, deeply entranced by the water. Bucky watched him from his perch on the spiral steps across the room. Was Steve watching the delicate droplets race down the pane, or the crashing, thunderous waves that tackled the foot of their temporary sanctuary?

Sam had turned on the radio an hour before. It was an old stereo, and it surprised them all when it flickered to life and began playing a Justin Bieber song. They had all groaned and spent a couple minutes dialing through the channels to find something that wouldn’t make them throw the radio to the whirlpool below, in the end settling on a classical, instrumental channel of strings, brass and woodwind. It crackled the songs around the echoing room, almost indistinguishable from the cries of whatever lighthouse keeper spirit that Bucky assumed still resided here, but the music was a lot more bearable than the sound of the weather outside, so it crackled on.

Steve still hadn’t moved, not even when Wanda has called them down for lunch. Bucky stayed with him, not wanting him to be alone. Everything that had happened had been a lot. The accords, the fight with Stark…

Steve’s shield lay motionless in the corner, under a bookshelf that had been untouched for years. It saddened Bucky that the shield looked so comfortable lay there, the scruff-marks and faded paint giving the appearance of dust settling.

Bucky rose from his seat, pulling himself up with his remaining arm on the railing. He was still getting used to the uneven balance in his body that the absence titanium prosthetic left, but it didn’t sway him as he slowly crossed the room towards his friend. The echo of the slow harp and piano duet faded out, and the distorted radio presenter’s voice caught his attention for a brief second as the title of the next song hit a chord with him.

 _‘Billie Holiday - The Man I Love’_. Now, that was something Bucky remembered from his past life. Even though the radio choked out an instrumental version, Bucky could still hear the lyrics in his head.

He stopped next to Steve. Steve had shifted upright, whether it was from the presence of his friend or from the recognition of the old song, Bucky couldn’t tell. Bucky shrugged his armour off over his head, struggling for a second, but he let out a sigh when it hit the floor. The humidity was torturous, his shirt sticking to his torso like a second skin. Steve flicked his eyes to the side to look at him, taking in a breathe, as if he was about to say something, but was stopped as Bucky instinctively holding his hand out to him. Steve looked down at it. The scars from the fight the week before still scattered across his knuckles, and for a second Bucky wanted to retract his hand. But this was Steve, and Steve didn’t judge.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed out, raising his own hand and slotting it into Bucky’s. He swiveled on his perch and rose to his feet, eye-level with his friend, yet looking down to the floor. Bucky gave a smile, despite Steve not seeing it, and started to walk backwards, leading Steve into the centre of the room, on top of the dusty, auburn rug.

They stopped, and Steve looked up, finally smiling a small smile in return. Bucky repositioned their hands, his thumb enclosing Steve’s, and he nudged Steve’s other arm with his shoulder gently. He wished he could have moved his hand onto his waist, but they had to make do with that they had. Steve’s eyes widened in question, but with the smallest of smiles he raises his free arm and gently wrapped it under Bucky’s ghost arm and onto his shoulder.

The song was still echoing as Bucky took a step backwards. Steve followed, and the corner of his lips twitched like he was holding back a chuckle. Bucky wondered what he was thinking of. Had they done this before? Some things were still blurry for him, especially things from their past life, but something about this made him want to chuckle as well. Bucky tried, but couldn’t remember, so instead he took a guess. Perhaps sickly, little Steve didn’t know how to dance, so Bucky showed him, his toes getting trod over on the tiles of his kitchen floor, laughter shaking the plaster off the walls as they stumbled around.

Bucky liked that image, and his smile was reflected back by Steve. He was beautiful when he smiled, which in itself was a rare occurrence this past week. His lips were chapped, he had stubble starting to come through which looked ridiculous, his baggy eyes looked heavy and bloodshot, and he still wore the butterfly stitches on his eyebrow from where Stark had caught him with his iron gauntlet. Bucky closed his eyes with a smile, leaning forward to press his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. Steve was beautiful, still.

They swayed together in sync within the perimeter of the rug, in circles but never quite going anywhere. They stayed close to each other, eyes closed, breathing in the smell of each other. Sure, sweat and dirt aren’t the most attractive of smells, but Bucky wouldn’t change a thing, he thought to himself as he buried his nose into Steve’s neck.

It was strange- if anyone was to come up to see why they weren’t eating and catch them dancing, the spell would’ve shattered instantly- but it seemed to come so naturally to them both. There seemed to be no meaning behind it: friends cheering each other up, allies having a laugh, something more, it didn’t matter to them. After years of feeling out of place, abused by the new century, they both felt… home.

The song ended, fading into a upbeat jazz song, and for a split second Bucky wanted to laugh, pulling away from Steve to pull him into an energetic, over the top jump around the room, but he resisted. Instead, they both stilled, their swaying stopped, and they both stood together, arms wrapped around each other, refusing to pull apart.

They stayed like that for half of the jazz song, and Bucky though he could have fallen asleep like that, stood up, leaning on Steve, but then Steve’s shoulder seized under Bucky’s cheek, and he slowly pulled back. He stayed within fingertip distance, but the space between them seemed like miles.

Bucky breathed in. He didn’t know what to think. Everything was so much for them both at the moment, and his head flooded with so much information that he wasn’t too sure anymore what was what.

Steve seemed to be expecting something, a look in his eyes told Bucky, but when nothing happened, his eyes closed slowly and reopened with a new message: 'take your time’.

Whatever it meant, whatever meaning Steve meant, Bucky knew he was right. Bucky thought ahead to the future. After he’s taken off-ice and he’s fixed, after things between Steve and Stark calm down, after he feels safe to walk outside again without being shot at… Then. Then was the right time. Time for what? Bucky still wasn’t sure, but they had time to think, time to figure it out. But for now…

Bucky gave a beaming smile, and right in cue his stomach rumbled. Steve laughed, gently pushes the side of Bucky’s head in mockery, and they both turned towards the stairs to join the others, leaving the radio to crackle on in the silence of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You can request any MCU Moodboards you'd like to see at [my Ask Box](all-hail-thanos.tumblr.com/ask).
> 
> Lyrics to Billie Holiday - The Man I Love
> 
>  
> 
> Someday he'll come along  
> The man I love  
> And he'll be big and strong  
> The man I love  
> And when he comes my way  
> I'll do my best to make him stay
> 
>  
> 
> He'll look at me and smile  
> I'll understand  
> Then in a little while  
> He'll take my hand  
> And though it seems absurd  
> I know we both won't say a word
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe I shall meet him Sunday  
> Maybe Monday, maybe not  
> Still I'm sure to meet him one day  
> Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day
> 
>  
> 
> He'll build a little home  
> That's meant for two  
> From which I'll never roam  
> Who would, would you  
> And so all else above  
> I'm dreaming of the man I love


End file.
